


Compression Webbing

by argle_fraster



Series: Compression Webbing [2]
Category: Chrono Cross, Chrono Trigger, Final Fantasy VIII, Kingdom Hearts
Genre: F/M, Gen, Magic Meta, Universe connector
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:34:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argle_fraster/pseuds/argle_fraster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walkways converge and collide for Squall, and disappear for Rinoa.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Tying together Final Fantasy 8, Kingdom Hearts, Chrono Trigger and Chrono Cross.

When Squall opened his eyes, he was greeted by a rush of pain in his temples and a sour taste in his mouth.

It wasn’t easy to forget the sort of feeling that Time Compression left, and he knew it instantly, right down to the tingle in his hands.  He was at first confused— he thought he was back at the Lighthouse speaking with Matron with tendrils of Ultimecia’s magic lingering on his skin— and it took him awhile to realize that the lights he was staring up at weren’t the candles fixed to the stone walls of the Orphanage.  He was lying on his back on a distinctly uncomfortable ground looking up at a darkened sky with a gutter hanging directly in front of his field of vision.

He sat upright suddenly, trying to figure out where the shadow creatures had gone to, as they had been, last he remembered, swarming around him, and where his friends had disappeared to.  His hand had been on—

Rinoa.

His stomach clenched tightly as he looked around wildly for a sign, any sign, that he was not alone in the strange alley, nestled in-between a building that looked to be a house and a stonewall that rose high into the air.  There was nothing around him, not even the rustle of wind.

He was alone.

He pushed himself upright, stumbling in his panic, realizing quite suddenly that his gunblade was still clenched in his fingers.

“Rinoa?” he called out.  The walls threw his own voice back at him.  “Rinoa?”

There was no answer, and he began to walk, slowly moving out from the alley he’d woken up in to the large square that expanded out before him.  It was lined with houses, where he could see lights streaming through the windows, and stairwells leading to separate levels of pathways.  It was utterly foreign to him, and he had seen nearly his entire world while traveling over the ocean waves in Balamb Garden.  He did not like the unknown, especially not when he was missing everyone he knew.

He was beginning to get scared.

The last thing he remembered was hunching on the ground, his back pressed against Balamb Garden’s outer fence, one hand on Rinoa’s shoulder.  There had been noise screaming around him, and then a strange pop, and then he had felt nothing at all.  He knew the distortion to be Time Compression, that much he remembered from before, but he didn’t know why he had been pulled in it or to what purpose it had served.

He had thought they were done with that.

He walked along the outer edge of the square until he had circled the perimeter, and upon finding no trace of his friends, he walked up one of the staircases.  His breath was coming faster, despite his attempts to keep it even, and his heart rate was increasing with each step he took.  His chest constricted painfully.

There was no one on the second level, either.

He quickened his pace, thinking that perhaps his friends had merely been unable to find him hidden in the shadows and had moved on, and maybe, if he caught up to where they were, he would find them.  Maybe everything would be explained.  He hastened his steps until he was running, blindly, turning around corners and buildings, finding only empty path after empty path.

He was still alone.

Something moved to his left, in the shadows, and he stopped suddenly, barely able to catch his breath.  There were two glowing orbs there in the inky blackness, and they were familiar— too familiar.  They were one of the last things he’d seen before he’d been thrown from everyone else.  The shadow creature took a hesitant step out of the darkness, as if analyzing the situation.

Squall could no longer breathe.

As the monster raised a hand towards him, claws closing into what seemed to be a fist, his thoughts swam until he couldn’t make anything out.  He thought perhaps he yelled at the creature, and swung his gunblade half-heartedly at it, and then he fell, backwards, onto the cobbled stone beneath his feet.

There was a scuffle, and then a warbling cry, and the shadow creature gave off a pitiful squeal before fading into the ground, like a sponge soaking up water.  Squall’s vision went red and his lungs felt as if they were burning, and his world fell completely to darkness.

\------

The next time he opened his eyes, the pain in his head had lessened somewhat, and he found that he was lying on something far more comfortable than stone ground.  Further investigation proved it to be a bed, and he pushed himself upright with a groan.  The muscles in his arms ached, like he’d pushed himself too hard in training.

“You’re awake!” a strange voice said to his right, and he looked over to find a duck in a red shirt standing at the side of his bed.  He blinked in confusion and shifted his gaze to find another one, identical to the first, except that his shirt was green.

“What—?” he tried, but the green-clad duck held up one feathered hand.

“He’s probably hungry,” the green duck said.

“You’re probably right,” the red duck agreed with a bob of his head.

“Awful bad luck to land in the Third District,” said another duck, which suddenly appeared at the side between the other two, dressed in blue.

“Good thing we were there making deliveries,” the green duck replied.

“Been a lot more of them lately, haven’t there?” the red duck mused.

“At this rate, we won’t have enough room for all of them,” said the blue duck.  “Whaddya reckon we ought to do about it?”

“Nothing we can do,” the red duck scoffed, looking angry.

“Not our job,” the green duck agreed.

Squall began to feel dizzy again, and his breathing was speeding up once more, and he let out a rattling cough that sounded awful even to his ears.  All three ducks whipped around to stare at him at once, and then, as if on cue, they were spurred into action.

“Food, we forgot about giving him food!” the red duck exclaimed, whisking off into a hallway and disappearing from view.  The blue duck moved closer to the bed and held a hand up on Squall’s arm, his feather’s tickling Squall’s skin.

“You’ll probably be alright if you stop hyperventilating like that!” he admonished.  “Slow down!”

Squall tried to comply and sucked in as much air as his lungs could handle. It worked, to some extent, and when his second fit of wheezing ended, he could breathe normally again, and the red tint had disappeared from the edges of his vision.  His hands felt clammy and cold, and he clenched and unclenched them several times to return feeling to his fingers.

The red duck returned carrying a bowl of steaming soup that smelled surprisingly good, but looking at it made Squall’s stomach turn, and he waved it away.

“Where… where am I?” he asked, choking slightly.

“Traverse Town,” the green duck announced from the position he had taken up on the end of the bed.  When he noticed Squall’s blank look, he shook his head and continued.  “It’s where everyone ends up when they get lost.”

“Lost?” Squall asked.

“In the corridors of darkness,” the blue duck supplied.

“I— no, I have to get back to my friends,” Squall insisted, freezing when he heard ‘corridors’.  Time Compression had been an awful lot like just that, tunnels through times and places he didn’t recognize.  If there had been a problem, then something had gone wrong, and he shouldn’t have ended up… wherever he was.

All three ducks looked suddenly seriously, feathers drooping.

“You can’t,” the blue one said.

“No, my friends are in danger, I have to go back,” Squall said forcefully, moving until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, boots smacking hard against the wooden floor.

“Maybe they came here, too,” the red duck suggested, brightening.

_Rinoa…_

“Maybe they didn’t,” the green duck said pointedly, and the red one’s shoulders sagged.

“You don’t understand,” Squall said.  He was beginning to get light-headed _again_.  “There was a spell, a magic spell that sent me here—“

At once, all three straightened again.

“Magic!” the green duck exclaimed.  “Well, if it was magic, he has to go see Merlin!”

\---------

Squall found himself alone on the streets again, with instructions on how to get to the particular house he was looking for, clutching at his gunblade like it was his last tie to the world he knew. He didn’t understand _any_ of it, and he didn’t know where he was, despite the explanation, and all he knew was that somewhere out there, his friends were in danger, trapped by the shadow creatures.

The memory stopped him.  The creatures seemed to be the link between the two places, of that he was sure, because there was no way that their sudden appearance outside garden could not be connected to his abrupt arrival in the strange, dark world.  If he could find out more about the shadow beings, then maybe he could find a way to get back to Rinoa and the others.

It didn’t take long to reach the door the ducks had told him would take him to Merlin— whoever that was— and he banged three times hard against the wood as instructed.  There was a shuffle on the other side, barely audible, and then whispering that he could not decipher.

The door opened a crack, spilling a long line of light out onto the cobbled pavement, and a dark eye peeped out through the opening.

“Can I help you?” a light, high voice asked.

“I– I need to see Merlin,” Squall choked out, and the door opened wider, revealing a girl with bright eyes and dark hair.  She reminded him so strongly of Selphie that for a moment, he couldn’t breathe or swallow, but then the likeness was gone, shimmering away into nothing.  “My name is Squall. Please.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, looking wary.  “Why?”

Squall swallowed hard again, trying in vain to dislodge the painful lump in his throat.

“I need to know about Time Compression.”

\---------

For a very long time, both longer and shorter than she could describe, Rinoa felt nothing at all.  She could hear things though– bits of conversations that existed beyond her, behind a veil, and she could see faceless figures that floated by.  Nothing touched her, and she didn’t think anything could.  She could feel nothing except weightlessness and the feel of infinite floating.

She heard someone crying, a woman, and it sounded closer than the other things, but it came and left in waves, like the crash of the tide against the sand, and sometimes she could not hear it at all, and at others, it was right next to her.

She saw places and times.  Sometimes they were clear and bright, others were shadowed and murky.  She saw waterfalls and floating lands, blizzards and magic.  She saw rolling dunes filled with flickering fireflies of light, humming slightly.  She saw molten magma and honeycombed corridors leading to a chamber filled with dust-covered tomes.  She did not see her friends, and she did not know if she could.

After awhile, the images were replaced with only snippets of color, like they were slowly melting out of her field of vision, and then they were gone completely, and she heard only the rush of the void and the gentle weeping hanging on the wind.

She realized that she could move, though it would not move her body.  She could _float_ through the nothingness in a separate piece, like her soul was a flight on its own.  She wondered if Edea had ever been able to do this.

She wondered if she could get home.

Perhaps all the time in the world had passed, and perhaps none had at all, but after everything, after the images and the sounds and the _feelings,_ Rinoa woke up.

\---------

“Time Compression?” the white-bearded wizard repeated, stroking the graying hairs with his gnarled fingers.  He paced through the room, moving in a zigzagged pattern around the bookcases and cauldrons that littered the floor, interspersed with bottles sealed with lead stoppers and loose pieces of crumpling parchment.  “I do not think such a thing is possible.”

“It is,” Squall insisted, sitting straight against the wooden chair he was perched on.  “I’ve been through it before.”

“My boy, if such a thing were available to me, do you not think I would have exploited it by now?” the wizard asked, and Squall’s shoulders slumped forward.

“It brought me here,” he mumbled, though it felt useless.  There was a crushing hopelessness rising in his chest, like a bubble, cutting off his air and feeling.  He could not think about never seeing the others, and Rinoa, again, for it stifled all else and threw his mind into a hazy fog.

The wizard stopped his pacing and turned to look at him, and seemed about to speak when there was a hesitant rapping on the door. Both men turned to look as a girl walked in, dressed in a simple pink dress, brown hair pulled back into a gently cascading braid.

“He should eat something,” she said, holding up a tray holding an assortment of plates and bowls.  “I brought in some food.”

“Thank you, Aerith,” Merlin said, sounding tired.  He rubbed his forehead wearily as she set the tray down on the desk near the doorway she’d come from, and she looked at Squall and smiled once, sadly, before leaving again.  There was a silence once her footsteps had faded away.

“You can’t help me,” Squall said finally, breaking the quiet.  Merlin looked sharply at him.

“I don’t know if anyone can,” he replied.  “This magic you talk about– it’s big.  It could alter whole worlds at a time.  That sort of thing isn’t something you want to mess with.”

“But– she did,” Squall choked out.  He lifted a hand to push errant hairs out of his face.  “She moved me here.  We were fighting, and the shadows were winning, and–“

Merlin’s face had gone pale, and Squall stopped himself, feeling his stomach clench in apprehension.

“What is it?” he asked, his voice low.

“Shadows,” Merlin repeated.  The old man flopped down in one of the chairs and rubbed the bridge of his nose again.  “The Heartless.  I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what?” Squall asked, though he was fairly certain that he didn’t want to know the answer.

“If the Heartless were there, she must have known,” Merlin said, mostly to himself.  “She must have used the magic as a last resort.”

“I don’t understand,” Squall said.  His voice was rising on the verge of panic, and he couldn’t fight it down.  “Last resort?”

Merlin looked at him, and the gaze he leveled was full of a myriad of emotions– pity, compassion, empathy, even regret, and they all flashed across his lined face in quick succession.

“She put you here to save you,” the older man said softly.  “She saved your life.”

\----------

When she opened her eyes, all she could see was white.  The world around her was devoid of all color, like the surroundings had been bleached completely, and there was nothing.  She could feel solidness beneath her form, and she could push herself up from it with her hands, but she could not see it, for it was the same as the rest of the world.

It was all blank.

_I need to find Squall._

She found that when she moved, she was moving her body once again, and she was no longer trapped in the split-dimension she had been sleeping in.  There was no world around her, but she was real, and she felt up and down her arms just to make sure.  The fabric crinkled against her fingers, and she could feel it snag once on her nail.  It existed, at least.

She began to walk, hoping that somewhere, she would find something more substantial.  There seemed to be no beginning or end to the bright nothingness she found herself encased in.  There was no breeze or wind, and no sound save her own padded footsteps.  She was alone.

She reached up unconsciously to grasp the ring dangling from the chain on her neck.  The metal was cool against her skin, and she clenched it hard, so that the contours of the carvings dug into her palm.

_I have to go back._

She had a sudden thought of flowers and green fields, and the waves crashing on the beach, and cobbled pathways– yes.  That’s where they had promised to meet.  It had worked once, worked through the first Compression, there was no reason it shouldn’t work now.

But try as she might, she could not make the whiteness around her fall away.

She began to panic, trembling so badly that the chain jangled against her neck, and she spun around in a circle, checking all angles.  There was nobody, and nothing, and she never thought that being so alone could be so terrifying.

She choked back a sob, and reached out with her abilities, and _pushed_.

The resistance she encountered was unexpected– it was like a blanket had fallen over her head, cloaking her mind’s eye.  There was a solid current around her, under her, moving through the whiteness, and she _pulled_ , hard, tugging it into existence.

Color burst forth around her.  It wasn’t bright or vivid, it was drab and gray, but it was color, and it was _something_.

It was stone.

It blossomed out into a floor and walls, completing the square to create a chamber around her.  It was cold and unfeeling, but it was there, and it was _real_ , and she fell to her hands and knees weeping in relief, and she stayed there, lying on the ground, until she had no more tears to cry, and the ring clenched in her hand had drawn blood.

\---------

_The wind blew her hair in her face, but she didn’t seem to mind, and she just laughed, like she always did standing near the railing like that, pushing the stray hairs out of her vision.  She looked back at him over her shoulder, and laughed again._

_“Don’t you like it here?” she asked, teasing, reaching out to grab his hand and curl her fingers around his.  “It’s like freedom.”_

_He didn’t say anything, but he agreed, because the balcony of Garden did taste like freedom, and the wind rushing against his face felt cool and welcome.  He let her pull him closer until he was standing against the railing as well, his free hand falling over the smooth metal._

_“I could stay here forever,” she said happily, closing her eyes._

_“You can,” he blurted out, before he knew what he was saying.  She opened one eye to look at him lazily, as if expecting him to be scowling, and then, when she noticed his expression, which must have mirrored a chocobo in headlights, opened both to fix her gaze on him._

_“You mean that?” she asked, her voice low._

_“I– yes,” he stumbled over the words, and then she smiled and the sun was reflecting off her lips and she looked beautiful there, next to him, and¬–_

\----------

He woke up feeling as if someone had stuffed cotton into his mouth.

His eyes were puffy and sore, as if he’d been crying, only he didn’t _remember_ crying, and he didn’t remember anything else from the night either.  Everything was a blur that made him nauseous.  He closed his eyes again, squeezing them tight, trying to block out the bits and pieces of the conversation that were coming back to him.

_“The Heartless destroyed your world.”_

The thought was too much, and he pushed himself upright, fighting against the tightness in his chest.  It made it hard to breathe, and painful, and he took several shaky breaths of air before he could stop his hands from shaking violently against the blankets he was lying on.

There were footsteps outside of his door, and then the knob shook slightly, as if someone had put their hand on it and then paused.  There was a moment of silence, and then muted whispers, and then there was a soft knocking.

“Squall?” came the timid voice.  When he didn’t answer, the door opened slowly, and Aerith peeked her head inside, looking somewhat guilty.

“I’m sorry,” she said automatically upon meeting his gaze.  “But Merlin wanted me to get you.  He says he might know someone who can help.”

The words both shook and fortified him, and he pushed aside the rest of the blankets, pulling his jacket over his shoulders after grabbing it from the floor next to the bed.

“I’m ready,” he said.

\----------

There was blood dried in the palm of her hand, crusted around the indentations in her skin that mirrored those on her ring, and she scrubbed furiously at it with her other hand until it was all gone.  Her flesh was pink and raw, and it throbbed, but she didn’t really mind the pain, because it kept her grounded.

It kept her feeling _alive_.

The chamber around her was solid rock, and it hadn’t mutated or changed since she’d slept, and she went to the far wall and put her hands on the stones.  They felt cool and solid and unyielding.  She pushed at them slightly, but they didn’t budge.

She didn’t know where she was.  She didn’t know how there could be nothing and then a room, or how she still felt vaguely like floating and bobbing along in a current.  She didn’t feel _right_ , and she didn’t know how to fix it.

She let out a strangled cry and banged her fists hard against the wall, subconsciously _reaching_ out with her power.  There was a flash of light, and then nothing, and suddenly her hands weren’t against rock anymore, but something cool and slick.  She opened her eyes and gasped.

There was a window there.

There was a tense moment in which she didn’t breathe at all.  She could change her surroundings without realizing she was doing anything.  She could _change_ things.  She could alter the stone room and maybe even the rest of the whiteness.

She felt something cold against her wrists, but when she looked down, she couldn’t see anything.  She reached with one hand towards the other, and her fingers stopped an inch from her skin, hitting against something smooth.  Something _hard._

Her breath caught in her throat, and she circled her wrist.  It went all the way around her hand, like a bracelet, and there was a stud at the bottom, pointing towards the floor.  It was joined to another, and another, and with a cry she flung herself away from the window.

They were chains.

She was a prisoner.

She couldn’t see them, but she knew they were there, and she could feel them brush against her skin each time she moved.  They were hard and stiff and she pulled at them as hard as she could to no avail.  She tried again and again, pulling at them with all her might, sobbing as she tugged and wrenched, and yet she could not free her hands from the binds.

She screamed and screamed until her voice went hoarse, and then she curled herself into a fetal position on the floor, shaking and retching, and she could hear the other woman weeping again, like it was outside of the newly formed window and the cold stone walls, and they cried together, voices floating on the wind.  And when she faded into nothingness again, she thought of Squall and his hand in hers, and then, further off, she saw waterfalls.

\----------

He followed Merlin through the darkened streets, his gunblade ready at the wizard’s request.  They saw only two of the shadow creatures– “Heartless”, Merlin had called them– and they scampered off immediately upon seeing the two, disappearing back into the darkness.

“There is a man,” Merlin began, checking over his shoulder like he sensed something around the corner of the building.  “He has been here a long time, longer than me.  He is very… odd, but he might know something.”

“Is this a wild goose chase?” Squall asked, frowning.

“Being here too long can do things to people,” the wizard explained.  There was a glint in his eyes that Squall didn’t particularly like.  “Time– it flows differently here, you must have felt it.  This is where the paths all converge.  It’s like… well, it’s like a refugee station, if you will.”

“Refugees?” Squall blinked.

“They come from everywhere,” Merlin said with a nod, and then he pointed around the bend, and the two moved around the corner.  They were briefly covered in inky shadows, but nothing moved against them.  “When the Heartless began destroying worlds, people started showing up here.  The rate has been increasing.”

“I don’t understand,” Squall said, for the second time since he’d met the wizard.

“No,” Merlin sighed, “you probably don’t.  But you will.”

He stopped in front of an old building that Squall had, at first glance, written off to be merely an abandoned shack.  He rapped his knuckles against the wood, and for a long time, there was no sound within the structure.  Squall felt his stomach drop out, and then there was a squeaking sound, and the door swung open.

“Merlin,” the old man on the other side said, his face half-hidden under his brown cloak.  “Come in.”

“This is Squall,” Merlin said with a nod, and Squall followed him inside, his fingers still tight around the gunblade’s hilt.  “Squall, this is the one I told you might be able to help.  His name is Gasper.”


	2. Chapter 2

"Please, sit down," Gasper said, gesturing to several tattered chairs sitting in the small room.  The walls smelled slightly musty, but the house was clean, and it held an aura of– difference.  It felt vaguely like a different world, like another time and place, and Squall was startled to find that Gasper felt the same way.  It was disconcerting, and he sat without speaking.  Merlin followed suit, stroking his beard in a thoughtful manner.

"I was told you might know something about Time Compression," Squall said finally, when it appeared that the strange old man was waiting for him to initiate the conversation.  "It's– it's how I got here."

"Time Compression?" Gasper mused, shooting a significant look at Merlin, who shrugged it off.  "Not many people show up here because of that."

"This place," Squall asked, frowning, "what exactly is it?"

Gasper was silent for a moment, sighing and inhaling deeply as if steadying himself.

"When I first arrived here, there was nothing," the old man began.  "This place was merely a holding area that existed outside of the normal realm of time that acted as a guide for those lost in time.  At first, there weren't many folks coming through, just the occasional lost soul in the corridors.  Then–"

"The Heartless," Merlin said with a sigh, and Gasper nodded.

"When they began devouring worlds, more and more people started popping up here," he said.  "It's easy to get lost in the corridors of darkness when worlds are fading out of existence."

"Fading–?" Squall started, and then choked, unable to continue.

"It's what the Heartless do," Merlin supplied.  "They consume worlds."

"But, the others... Rinoa... they–" Squall sputtered, and Gasper fixed him with a pointed look.

"She was the one to use Time Compression, no?" the cloaked man asked, and Squall nodded, the lump in his throat preventing any further words from forming.  Gasper looked thoughtful for a moment, and then grim.  "There are only two that I know of to successfully use Time Compression.  The first had it backfire on him and send him spiraling into his own past, and the other..."

He stopped, and squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain.

"What?" Squall asked, his voice hoarse and his voice raw.  He didn't want to know the answer, he didn't want to _hear_ the answer, and yet now, having gone this far, he couldn't pull away.  He knew there was no turning back from the revelation.  The very thought terrified him.

Gasper turned to him, looking old and weary, with lines running deep in the contours of his face, his eyes a strange, other-worldly green.

"There are– places that exist outside of time, and things that exist beyond all mortal veils.  She is there."

\--------

She thought it was a long time before she next awoke.

Her body felt as if it were full of sand, heavy and unyielding, and she struggled to push herself upright.  The ring had lodged itself, still hanging on the chain, in-between her neck and her shoulder, and her skin there was sore and raw.  She stumbled once, and then managed to stay on her feet.

She let out a sob of relief when she saw that the stone chamber and the window were both still there, and still intact.  Even a cage was better than the awful nothingness she'd first encountered.

She _stretched_ out, hoping to find something else, more resistance, more to create in the reality she was facing, and she dropped her abilities with a sharp cry when she realized that there was a barrier holding her in.

She could no longer _touch_ time.

She _reached_ out again, wildly, desperately, for if she could not touch time, then she could not escape from the void she had fallen into.  She could feel it, beyond a door, but she could not reach it.

It was lost to her.

"Squall," she choked out, falling to her knees with renewed weeping.  She could not fathom being hopelessly stuck in that room, barred with invisible chains and her own abilities blocked from her.  Without Time Compression, she could not return to her world or her friends.  Without Time Compression, Squall was gone.  She allowed herself to sob for only a few minutes before she stopped and rubbed her fists vigorously against her eyes.  The crying was useless, and only made her thoughts hazy, and she needed to be clear.

The back of her mouth tasted like strawberries and copper.

_Ellone._

If she could reach Ellone, she could get Time Compression open again through the other woman's abilities.  But Ellone was lost, gone, back where the others were, denied to Rinoa.

Her hand clenched involuntarily around the ring again, and the metal dug into her skin hard enough to cause tears to spring in her eyes.  She sat down, pushing herself back against the stone wall, which was cold and smooth, and wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling her legs closer to her chest.

She squeezed her eyes shut, _stretched_ out, and _screamed_.

\----------

Gasper's study was full of dust and books that looked as if they hadn't been opened in years, and a desk cluttered with parchment and quills, and then papers containing things Squall couldn't define– blueprints on one, a sketch on another of a round egg with fluttering ribbons, and quick brush strokes written in a language that didn't look familiar at all.  He let his eyes sweep over all of it, taking it in, forcing himself to think of the details, because he could not stomach thinking of the facts.

He could not comprehend that they were all simply _gone_.

At the top of the desk was a single picture frame, ornate designs carved into the sweeping wooden curves.  There were two figures in the picture, though Squall was fairly certain neither one was Gasper– one was female, sitting with her hands in her lap, hair elegantly swept past her shoulders and trailing down the back of the chair, and the other one, the male, had too sharp of features to be the old man, even in youth.  His eyes were too hard, and his chin was too pointed.

Squall heard footsteps behind him, though he did not turn around.

"Why did she send me here?" he asked quietly, staring at the picture in the frame.  "Why here?"

"I do not think she meant to," Gasper said.  His voice was low and haggard sounding, and he sounded weary and tired, and old beyond his years.

"If I ended up here, though, that must mean..." Squall let his question trail off, lingering in the air.

"That she was interrupted," the old man finished.  There was a pause, and Squall could not stop his hand from shaking.  "I believe that the interruption sent a ripple through the spell."

"Meaning?" Squall asked.

"It was like a rubber band," Gasper explained, running his finger over the papers containing the blueprint and the egg sketch.  "I've seen it before.  It catapulted you  here, because you had no where else to go.  For her, I do not know.  It probably shot her beyond, to the void."

"The others?" Squall voiced, feeling small.  Gasper shook his head sadly.

"If they had remained in the world, it is doubtful that they lived."

A heavy silence descended upon them both, and the desk scene in Squall's vision began to blur with tears.  He tore his gaze away, fighting furiously against the emotion.  He would not cry there.

"The things you talked of, things outside of the mortal veil– what did you mean?" Squall asked when he felt he could once again control the warbling in his tone.

"The Heartless are not the only beings to consume worlds," Gasper said simply, though his eyes were dark and shadowed, and Squall was afraid suddenly to push the question further.  He waited until the old man looked calm again before breaking the stillness in the study.

"These Heartless... can they be stopped?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," the old man replied.  Squall mulled over the answer before turning and making to leave.

"Wait," Gasper said, and he reached over to grab something from the desk that had been hidden beneath a large pile of crumpling papers.  It was a medal, made of shimmering steel, with a rounded orb at the top and a sword crossing it in the middle.  The old man looked at it only once before holding it out to Squall.  "Take it."

Squall did so slowly, letting the medal fall into his palm.  The ornament was heavy and solid against his skin.

"What is it?" he asked, trailing his fingers over the smooth surface.

"It used to be the mark of a Hero," the old man told him, and when Squall looked up, there was something shimmering in his eyes.  "Perhaps you will find that it still means something, after all."

"Is it too late?" Squall asked, his voice breaking.  "For Rinoa?"

"I don't know," Gasper said again.

\-------

That night, sitting at the small desk in the room Merlin had offered him in his home, Squall sat and stared at the medal sitting on the wooden surface, his gunblade clutched firmly in his hand.

Then, by light of the flickering candle, he worked until dawn carving a lion's head into the smooth, circular surface at the top.

\--------

_When Balamb Garden was traveling East through the ocean's waves, the morning sun would stream through Squall's window, waking him slowly.  He liked, though he wouldn't readily admit it, returning to consciousness with the warmth of the sun's rays on his face.  He liked the way it would flicker softly over Rinoa's hair,  making it sparkle with blue hues._

_He woke before she did, and he laid with his head resting near to hers, so her hair tickled his cheeks, and he stayed there until she woke, murmuring and sighing, opening her eyes just a crack to look over at him._

_"Morning," she whispered, smiling._

_"Morning," he answered.  She turned so that she was facing him, her face near to his, her hands tumbling over his so that their fingers were intertwined.  Her skin was smooth and warm, and she leaned in to kiss him softly, gently.  She always tasted like the cool breeze and ripe berries and the salt of the ocean._

_"You have pillow creases on your cheek," she said, laughing, reaching her hand up to brush her fingertips across–_

\---------

There was a strange howling noise in the distance, like a cross between a squeal and a shriek.  It was distinctly inhuman, and it sent shivers down her spine, and she tried to curl up tighter against the wall.  The woman's weeping was back, and Rinoa wondered vaguely if the two were connected, for both seemed closer than they had for quite a while.

Her muscles were screaming from the position she was holding, and she extended both legs gingerly.  The aching reminded her, at least, that she was real, and that on some level, she still existed.

She didn't know what that level was.

She stood up shakily and avoided the wall with the window, for she knew both the woman and the screaming creature were in that direction, and she wished to avoid them.  Instead, she turned to face the back wall.  When she did, her breath caught in her throat.

There was a door there.

There had never been a door previously, and she dared not approach it for at least ten minutes.  After the time had passed and nothing had come through the portal, nor had it moved or shifted shape, she felt safe enough to reach out and let her fingers rest against the handle.  It was brass, and worn, as if had gotten much use, and it did not shock her when she touched it.

She turned the handle, and warily pushed the door open.

There was nothing but whiteness spanning out before her.  She felt her chest constrict painfully, and she swallowed hard, and then she hesitantly stuck one foot out to see if the nothing contained the same ground she remembered waking up on.

As soon as her foot hit the barrier, color blossomed out like before, forming a hallway expanding a foot away from her.  It was made of the same stone as her chamber was, and nothing more, and she stared out at it in shock before she could process anything else.

She clenched her hands into fists at her side, and began to walk.

Each step spurred new stones to bubble into existence, and by the time she reached the end of the hall, the entirety of it had shimmered into being behind her.  She turned, taking in the windows on the right side.  The ceiling was made of high-arched buttresses, the same–

_The same arches from the SeeD initiation party at Garden._

She didn't know what it meant.  She didn't even know how it was possible.  But there was another door in front of her, and she knew that little would be gained by idling over strange coincidences in her strange reality.

So she opened the second door, and walked through it.


	3. Chapter 3

After a few days, Squall began to feel more comfortable in Merlin's house, and was able to sleep without his gunblade lodged between the mattress and the bedsprings, though he kept the medal Gasper had given him around his neck at all times.

The dark-haired ninja girl found him one morning, bouncing up with an almost annoying energy.

"Merlin wants to know if you'd like to go hunting with us today," she said.

"Hunting?" Squall asked, curiosity piqued.

"Heartless," Yuffie clarified, grinning and throwing one hand out in front of her form.  "You've seen them around here, they tend to loiter in the Third District.  It's our job to get rid of them."

"I–" Squall started, and then stopped, looking down at his hands.  The shadow creatures were responsible for the destruction of his world and the loss of Rinoa, and they were, despite all their faults, the link between him and what had happened.  He nodded once and slowly climbed to his feet, fingers wrapping easily around the gunblade hilt.  "Alright."

"Good!" the girl exclaimed, departing the room with several bouncy steps.  Squall waited until she had returned with the grumpy older man with the blond hair and the cigarette hanging from his lips, and then she bounded out the front door with shurikens in hand, looking all the while like a child walking into a candy store, bright eyes wide and searching.

Finding the creatures wasn't hard, and Squall found that slicing through them with his gunblade, even though he knew they would reform elsewhere, and even though he knew that all he was doing was delaying the inevitable, felt good.  It felt normal.  It felt like working up a sweat in the training center under the harsh fluorescent lights, like wandering through Esthar's fields with weapon in hand.  It felt like his past and his future all rolled into one.

He liked it.

It gave him a sense of purpose.

The three returned late that day, weary and spent, and ate the evening meal silently, and then Squall went out again, alone, gunblade resting on his shoulder.

If fighting them gave him a purpose, he would do as much of it as he could.

\--------

Rinoa found herself on a balcony, overlooking the swirling darkness.  There was nothing beyond her perch save the void, and she was afraid to move closer to the railing, in case it fell free and sent her careening into nothingness.  But the rippling shadow beyond the balcony looked like the water had below Balamb Garden, and the balcony was shaped just like her favorite one had been in the moving structure.

She still didn't know what that meant.

The arched doorway and stone walls seemed solid enough, and she moved along them with her fingers grazing over the smooth surfaces just to make sure.  It appeared that as she moved, the structure around her built itself, and it was beginning to resemble a sprawling mansion.

Like a _castle_.

She let her hands fall down to her sides.  There was no wind on the balcony, no breeze whipping through her hair, but it looked just the same as from her memories from Garden.  Beyond the railing, she could hear the woman weeping again, closer this time, more clear and precise.  She wanted to reach out to her, but she knew she could not touch her.  There was a veil again, blocking her, holding her abilities.

She turned around and walked back inside to the hallway.

Moving through the castle was slow, because she would wait after every step for the stone and mortar to materialize.  She did not know if it would emerge retroactively should she run, and she didn't want to push sinking into the white nothingness.  She took each movement slowly and surely, step by step, allowing the surroundings to blossom into being around her.  It was safer that way, and easier, and it allowed her to scrutinize every new square foot of the structure.

There were several more hallways that developed under her feet, and then a circling staircase.  She looked down the stairs, or at least what had become of them, from her perch at the top.  There was another way to go to the left, and another to her right, and then down the stairs, giving her three options.  She didn't know which to choose first.

She also didn't know if it mattered.

She glanced over her shoulder, and then back down at the stairs.  She could complete fleshing out the top level before venturing downward, just in case once she had descended to the lower level she was unable to return again.  In a way, it gave her more control over the reality she found herself in.  She picked up her foot, and then debated again, and then took two steps backwards so that she was in the middle of the hall.

Feeling slightly stronger, she clenched her fists at her side, and went left.

\-------

He dreamt of Rinoa that night.

He saw her dancing in her white dress, out on the stage at Balamb Garden, arms outstretched to either side.  She had wings– bright white ones that stuck out in either direction and curled slightly as she moved.  She spun and spun and spun until he couldn't see any of her features at all, only a blur of color, and then she was gone, and so was the Garden stage, replaced with flowers.

He recognized the flower field at the Orphanage.  The scene was the same as when he'd been lost inside the first Time Compression, with petals blowing through the air, and sunlight streaming down to the waving grass.  She was there, in her blue sweater, hands clenched in front of her.  It took him a minute to realize that she was holding onto the ring.

He called out to her, and she turned, and suddenly her wings weren't white anymore but red, blood red, so dark they were nearly black, and he tasted bitter spices and warm ale mingling with coppery fear.  There was a shiver down his spine, causing him to shudder involuntarily, and then he heard laughing, a high-pitched feverish laugh, and it was so _familiar_ , so _obvious_ , only he couldn't grasp onto what it was, and then everything was gone.

He woke up struggling for breath, drenched in a cold sweat.

He didn't care what time of night it was.  He threw on his jacket and went to find Aerith.

\--------

_She woke up with a splitting pain in her head, and raised a hand to lay her fingers against her throbbing temple.  She remembered fighting in the training center, her pinwheel digging into the flesh of several leaf monsters, and then there had been a roar and a rumbling in the ground, and then everything had gone black.  She groaned once when she felt the stiffness and aches in her arms and legs, and then cautiously opened one eye._

_She was in the white room on the end of the medical wing, lying underneath the beige sheets.  A glance to the corner revealed Squall half-lying, half-sitting in the chair, his head back against the wall, eyes closed.  She smiled, unable to stop herself._

_Her stirring must have jarred him, for he mumbled something and lifted his head groggily, blinking several times before looking at her._

_"Hey," she said softly, pushing herself into a sitting position.  Her arms screamed at her, but sitting up felt good, and it cleared her head a bit.  Squall straightened, rubbing the back of his head._

_"How are you?" he asked, and she shrugged._

_"I've been better," she sighed, then nodded towards the chair he was sitting in.  "Have you been here all night?"_

_"Done it before," he murmured, looking sheepish and embarrassed, and she smiled again, thinking back to the stories the others would tell from the time she was unconscious for weeks._

_"Yeah," she replied, and he leaned over, reaching his hand across to take hers in–_

\--------

"A dream?" Aerith asked, blinking in surprise.

"It wasn't just a dream," Squall said, leaning against the side of her door.  "I know it wasn't.  It was– something else.  Visions or something."

The brunette girl frowned.

"I don't know, maybe it was remnants in your memory, or maybe..." The lines in her furrowed brow didn't disappear, but she ushered him inside the room and closed the door behind him.  She slowly walked over to the desk, looking as if she were deep in thought.  "Maybe Time Compression had something to do with it."

She stopped suddenly and turned to face him.

"Why did you come to me?" she asked, and Squall looked down at the hardwood tile beneath his feet, feeling foolish.

"The others, they said something about you and a life force or stream or something," he mumbled.  "I thought– I thought you might know about things like this."

She didn't respond, but she didn't look particularly upset either, and Squall took it as a good sign.  She began pacing again, one finger unconsciously tapping her chin in a steady, even rhythm.  He watched her move for several silent minutes until she turned back to him again.

"There might be a connection between you," she said finally.

"A connection?" Squall repeated, and she nodded, braid swinging behind her.

"If she was disrupted in the middle of casting the spell on you, then perhaps the magical bridge between you hasn't been completely broken," she explained, and she moved towards him with her hands on either side of his head.  "It's possible that the interruption merely weakened the bond, and you're still caught in the energy from it.  It could explain the dreams, at least."

"I felt something during it," Squall admitted.  "Like a sense.  A tingle."

"It could be residue," Aerith mused, closing her eyes.  She looked to be concentrating, but didn't say anything more, and there was a moment of quiet before Squall continued.

"What if it's a warning?" he asked, ignoring the lump in his throat.  One emerald eye opened, looking hard at him.

"There's likely little you can do to help, even if it is," she said, voice gentle.  It sounded like an apology, and Squall didn't particularly want it.  "I can't recreate the spell, and there's no way to bridge the severed connection.  I don't know where she is now."

Upon seeing Squall's expression, her features softened into a look of sympathy and concern.

"I know it's hard," she said, dropping her hands.  "I just don't know if there's anything I can do."

Afraid of the tightness in his chest, he stood and made to leave, wishing to be back in the confines of sleep so that the crushing weight of his loss would lift from his shoulders.

"Wait," she called out, as he was approaching the bedroom door, and he turned to face her.  "There may be a way to use it."

"Use it?" he asked.

"If it's a warning," she said, walking closer, hands clasped before her.  "You could use it.  Use the feeling.  If you're still connected through the spell, there will be some lingering effects.  You can cultivate it to act as a warning or a signal of sorts.  Perhaps to alert you to the presence of Heartless?"

"You think that will work?" he inquired, afraid to hope.

"The Heartless are the connection, aren't they?" she said, echoing his earlier thoughts, her eyes shining in the dim candlelight.  "You ought to use that."

\-------

She knew that the castle was revolving around her memories– the archways of the Garden dance floor, the balcony outside the classrooms– but she had not expected, nor wanted, any others to be used.  It seemed cheap and cruel and _hopeless,_ but there she was anyway, standing at the edge of her father's parlor, lit by shimmering chandeliers, walls lined with gold-framed paintings.  Her hands remained pressed to her mouth, breathing erratic and staggered, until she could find the will to move her legs and journey into the room.

It was just as she remembered, the last time she had been there, when her father had been smoking a pipe and she had been carrying a book under one arm.  There were two levels, with a curving staircase in the center, and then an open area below where her father's desk had been.  She passed by one of the railings, and she could smell the sweet scent of his pipe tobacco.  The memory choked her, blurring the scene, and she had to stop and compose herself again before she could continue.

She slowly approached the far wall on the upper level, and realized that the canvases within the golden-gilted frames were black and empty.

Confused, and slightly unnerved, she walked up to the first one and touched the frame.  It was hard and solid and smooth, and she let her hands move along the outside, confirming that it was indeed real.

When she touched the canvas, she could feel the word echoing in her head.

Ignus.

_Fire._

She stepped back, on the verge of panic.  Without bidding, the memories and images washed over her, engulfing her.  Ifrit had been the first GF she had ever junctioned, and she could still feel the elemental power burning through her veins, collecting at her fingertips.

_Ifrit._

The images on the canvas blossomed out from the center, filling the black with hues of orange and gold, expanding just as the stone castle around her did, and after a moment, she was staring at a full painting instead of an empty frame.  Chilled, she wrapped her arms around her form, staring up at the swirling strokes of paint.

After awhile, it became apparent that nothing more was going to change on the canvas' rough surface, and she slowly moved to the next one, which was the same as the first and full of only blackness.  She hesitated, for she was almost afraid to see what the next one would bear, and then touched the tips of her fingers to the surface.

Inandantia.

_Flood._

_Leviathan._

She drew back, watching the color spread onto the canvas, and then moved to the next one, repeating the process.

Inaudax.

_Cowardice._

_Zone._

She could not wrench her eyes away from the painting, even though it was not painting his face.  Instead, it was painting a vague, abstract scene in the Timber Owl's train car.  There were blurs of color by the door– Watts, and blurs of color near the stairs at the back– her, oh Gods, the blue was her...

She stifled a sob and threw herself backwards, her back hitting the rail hard, sending pangs of pain up her spine.  Would all the paintings contain her memories, her thoughts?

Her past?

She looked around the chamber then, at the stairs and the blank canvases that lined the walls on the lower level as well, and thought it painfully ironic that the things that made her who she was, made her _wrong_ to him, would end up gracing the walls of the copy of his parlor.

And she knew, deep down, that she had no choice but to continue.

So she did.


	4. Chapter 4

"She's right," Merlin said, stroking his beard. "The remnants of the spell are still lingering around you."

"Can we trace them?" Squall asked. "Can they lead us to Rinoa?"

"No," Merlin said, looking apologetic when Squall's face fell. "They have been cut, and now they are simply around you. But you can use them, Aerith is right."

"What can I use them for?" he asked, swallowing hard.

"Warnings," Aerith supplied from beside him, perking. "Feelings."

"The magic can pick up things," Merlin nodded, looking thoughtful. He paced the room several times, his feet scuffling against the hardwood floor, and then he stopped in front of one of the large bookcases near the far wall. His hand hovered over the spines of the tomes, and he muttered softly to himself, until he reached down and pulled one out, flipping through the crumbling pages. "The lingering energy can pick up emotions, like anger or rage. Using such a thing can help identify enemies before you know they are there."

"The Heartless?" Squall asked, blinking in surprise. "They have emotions?"

"They have aggression," Aerith said softly.

"Could it– could it pick up other feelings?" Squall inquired, lowering his head so that he was staring at his hands, clenching and unclenching in his lap. There was a moment of silence, and then Aerith reached over and laid her hand gently on his arm. Her fingers were warm and soft. He wondered how it was possible that she could radiate such peace.

"I don't think she's here," she said, her voice very low. "The odds of her turning up here, through the corridors... they aren't high."

"But yes," Merlin said, frowning, answering his question. "It could pick up other feelings as well."

Squall remembered the tingle that had shivered down his back from the dream of Rinoa, and tried to imagine it again. The coppery taste in the back of his mouth was his tie to her.

He let his face sink down into his hands, and no one in the room moved for several minutes, until the door swung open and Yuffie bounded inside, all energy and cheer and shurikens held stiffly between her fingers.

"It's time for rounds!" she announced, and Squall had never been more glad to reach for his gunblade and follow her out the door, and as the Heartless shrieked and coiled around his blade, he felt a fierce rush of pride.

\-------

Rinoa stared up at the final picture gracing the walls of the parlor. It was larger than the others, and black as night, the frame looking old and worn, with gold paint flecks chipping away. She didn't reach up to it for a long time. She was still trembling from the other paintings that had blossomed into existence before her– memories, and thoughts, and – _Squall_.

Choking back a frustrated sob, she reached up and let her finger slide lightly over the canvas.

There was no word that accompanied this painting; instead, the picture merely faded into being from the dark shadows. There was a wall that looked to be made of stone, and a cobbled path, and then there were flowers and waving grass and–

She could not hold back the second sob that rippled through her chest, throwing both hands over her mouth. It was the flower garden. It was Edea's flower garden.

She was supposed to meet Squall there.

The painting blurred in front of her vision, but she could still see a crumpled figure lying among the flowers, and it looked just like Squall had when she had found him after the first Time Compression, when she had thought he was lost and she would never find him again, and she couldn't tell if the figure was merely sleeping or worse.

She took several steps back and nearly tripped over a crack in the floorboards. The parlor seemed suddenly stifling, as if trapping her with her memories, thoughts that served no purpose but to pain her now, and she searched frantically for an exit, tears flying from her cheeks with the movement. There was something oddly tight in her chest, like something she _should_ remember, something _familiar_ , but she didn't know what it was, and it was mixing with her cries.

She found the door to her right, and spared only one last tear-filled glance at the large painting before sprinting out of it, and she could hear the woman weeping behind her, heart-wrenching sobs that echoed through the chamber.

She saw only a glimpse of the words that had emblazoned themselves across the bottom of the frame, and the picture went strangely dark, as if the colors had been pulled from it.

_Vividarium et Intervigilium et Viator._

_In the garden sleeps a messenger._

The woman's sobbing stayed in the chamber as she fled from it.

\-------

"I think your magic might be a little like auras," Aerith told him a few days later at breakfast, when he was staring down at his still full cup of coffee. He looked up at her, confused.

"What?" he asked. She pulled out the chair next to him and sat down, cupping her chin with one hand.

"I've been doing some research," she said with her soft little smile. "Magic remnants from spells can often manifest themselves into auras. Anything can create one in people– emotions, changes, mystical energy, anything. And maybe yours works like that. It's allowing you to see things because it's melded with your essence."

He shook his head to show he still didn't understand, and she held her hands out to either side, looking thoughtful for a minute.

"Auras are colors," she said finally. "Everyone has a color that represents them and the way they think and act."

"Can you see them?" he asked.

"Sometimes," she shrugged. "When I'm working magic."

He looked at her, and she smiled again.

"You're all golden," she told him, answering his unasked question. "All light."

"Is darkness bad?" he asked.

"Not always," she said, and he lowered his gaze to stare at his coffee again. "Some people with darkness can be light, too."

He wasn't sure he wanted to know why that felt so true.

\-------

She found herself standing in a very dark corridor, with the steady rhythm of dripping water coming from somewhere to her right. For a long time she kept one hand firmly up against the wall, because it steadied her and grounded her, and she didn't know what was waiting in the shadows stretched before her.

When she heard nothing save the pings of the droplets, she took a shaky step forward, and ventured into the unknown.

It was not as large as she had expected, and she came across a wall within a few minutes. It was slick, like it was covered in slime and mold, and it was bumpy, made of stone like the rest of the castle.

She followed it along until she came very near to the dripping water, and then, quite suddenly, the wall stopped and she almost pitched forward. There was an opening, a doorway, and she felt around in front of her before moving inside of it.

She expected another chamber.

What she found was yet another wall a few feet past the portal. She kept her fingers on it and moved around, in a square, following the corners and the adjoining walls, until she was back at the doorway she'd entered through. As she moved slightly to her left, just to make sure it was the same as the other side, her foot kicked against something metal, and it clamored across the stone floor.

It was metal. It had sounded like _chains_.

She was in a cell.

_Why was there a cell?_

She turned and ran, because she didn't want to know why such a room would be there, and she didn't want to face what it could mean. She ran past the doors leading to the parlor and into a large, open receiving room. There were stairs, and a chandelier, and she rushed past it all, terrified and shaking, a stinging sensation in her eyes.

There were two large double doors at the end of the hall, and they looked like exterior doors. They looked like _a way out._

She threw them aside as hard as she could and rushed past them, only to feel a tugging on her wrists that pulled at her, stopping her movements, and sent her careening backwards onto the stone steps splayed out beneath her. She looked back inside, and she could _feel_ the chains on her wrists, and she pulled at them as hard as she could.

The stone steps ended suddenly after a dozen or so, and then there was only swirling colors. The hues hummed and moved and shot past her vision, like they were alive, like tiny fireflies that glowed like a rainbow. She stared out at them, one hand still wrapped around the invisible chain, and then, looked _past_ them, past the twirls and waves and ripples.

Below them, far, far below them, there were flowers.

It was the flower garden. It was _her_ flower garden.

She pulled and pulled, but her chains wouldn't budge, and her garden was waiting for her, _Squall_ was waiting for her, right below the steps, only she couldn't reach them. She collapsed backwards on the stone with a ragged, hoarse cry, biting her lip so hard it bled, and she didn't cry. She didn't do anything at all. She just lay there, with one head against the top step, wishing that her strained, painful breathing would simply end.

For a long time, she saw nothing.

\-------

_"Zell's mother lives here, right?" she asked, wrapping her fingers around his. The breeze was warm and pleasant and played with his hair, pushing strands in front of his face. A woman smiled as they passed the white cobbled walls._

_"Back by the shop," he answered, pulling her closer._

_"I think it's nice here," she said. When he glanced over at her, she looked far-away and dreamy. "It'd be nice to live in a peaceful town like this, by the sea."_

_She turned to him, eyes suddenly bright and wide._

_"Do you like the ocean?" she asked._

_"I'd never really thought about it," he admitted, and for some reason, she found it funny, breaking into twinkling laughter. Before she had stopped, she wrapped one arm around his waist, fingers closing easily on the fabric of his jacket._

_"Oh, Squall," she sighed, giggles trailing off. "You just don't–_

\-------

He dreamt of Rinoa again that night. She was smiling gently at him, like she knew something he didn't, like she was at _peace_ , and then, when he was trying to find words to say and couldn't get anything past his throat, she reached up to him and let her fingers trail down the side of his cheek. And then she smiled again, and her wings darkened, and the scene became shadowy, and he awoke to moonlight streaming across the bed sheets.

He bolted upright, breathing hard, and it took several minutes to calm his racing heart. He didn't know what the dream meant. He didn't know if it had anything to do with the magic remnants still floating around him.

But he remembered what Gasper had told him. Rinoa had sent him away to keep him safe. She had protected him.

She wanted him to be okay.

His hands were shaking when he pulled up his jacket from its place on the floor, thrown between the edge of the mattress and the legs of the wooden desk against the wall. He let his fingers rub the leather and brush over the fur lining, and then he moved from the bed and sat down in the desk chair.

There were crumpling pieces of paper strewn over the wooden surface, and an ink pen, and he picked up one of the flattest looking pieces and began to draw. He had only his memory to go from, but he knew the shapes by heart, knew the sloping curves and easy edges. His drawing was shaky at best, but he didn't think it would matter.

He left it with his jacket outside of Aerith's door with a can of paint he'd found in the airship garage that he hoped Cid wouldn't notice was missing.

\-------

The next morning, his jacket was hanging outside of his door, and there were two red wings emblazoned across the back.


	5. Chapter 5

She ran.

She fled from the steps, and the image of Edea's flowers hovering below her reach, and she didn't want know anything about the cell, or the paintings in the parlor, or the large glass chandelier hanging in the receiving hall.  She couldn't think about the shackles chaining her to the prison, nor the weeping of the woman just beyond the veil, and she couldn't think, couldn't _imagine_ , why everything was falling into perfect place around her.

And so she ran, because it was the only thing she could do, until she'd reached what seemed to be an outdoor garden, with a fountain in the middle.  She ran into, caring not for the gentle bubbling noises coming from it, nor the sweet scent that lingered there even though there were no flowers in sight.  She ran across it, past the fountain, and took little heed of the water on the cobbled stones.

She should have noticed, because she slipped, and before she knew it the ground was rushing up to meet her, and one of her fingers caught on the chain around her neck, breaking it with an audible clattering of metal meeting rock, and then she was facedown in a puddle, sputtering and wet.

She coughed on the cool water and spit it out, hair hanging damp in her vision, clinging to the side of her face.  She reached up to feel the chain– and found that it was gone.

"No," she whispered, sitting up sharply, kneeling in the puddles, feeling through the pooled water with her hands in a desperate attempt to find the ring that had been resting against the groove of her collarbone.  When she could not find it, she spun, heart beating wildly, breath coming in quick, ragged gasps, and she could feel the tears prickling the corners of her eyes again. "No!"

It was not in the puddle before her, nor the one next to her.  She found broken bits of the chain floating on top, and large pieces nestled into the stones below, but not the ring.  She began to wave her hands through the pools quicker, hoping to feel something, hoping to have her finger connect with the familiar metal.

"No!" she sobbed again, the cries bursting from her throat.  "No, no!"

She had turned completely around, and it was not there.  

" _Squall_ ," she choked, gasping.  "Squall, no, Griever!"

She could no longer see with the tears blurring her vision, and she pounded her fists down hard against the stones, sending splashes of water up onto her arms and face.  She screamed, and yelled, and wept, hitting the ground over and over until her hands were red and raw.  She shook and trembled and began to _push_ out with her magic, as far as she could, _pushing_ against the stone walls around her.  She did not care when the ground beneath her began to shake, or when the rocks in the walls ground against each other angrily, she just continued _pushing_ and _pushing_ , and then, abruptly, she _pulled_.

There was a strange popping noise in front of her, and then the feeling of warm breath on the back of her neck, and then, building in intensity, a growl.

She stopped moving, terrified, tasting blood in the back of her mouth, hands hovering mid-pound over the stones.  For a long moment, she did not dare to look up, and could only tremble in absolute horror.

There was a monster next to her.

Her eyes darted quickly to the left, where there were no claws or feet resting on the floor, but merely a shadow.  It was floating.

When she was not instantly shocked or stabbed or rendered immobile, she slowly raised her head, errant hairs still sticking to her cheeks and forehead, and the creature slid into view.

It looked– it looked like a _lion_.

\--------

He went to see Gasper again, after awhile, after he felt that he had gotten his anguish and grief under control.  The old man did not seem surprised to see him, and he opened his door widely to let him in.

"You're wearing the medal," the man said, nodding towards Squall's chest, where the medallion shone in the candlelight.  He did not make a mention of the modifications, and Squall assumed that he approved.  He sat down on one of the couches, sinking deeply into the cushions.

"I think–" he started, and then shook his head.  "I realize now that she– is..."

Gasper raised one eyebrow, but didn't say anything, and Squall had to take a deep breath in order to continue.

"She's gone," he finally finished, and the words felt like a gasp, like a punch in the stomach.  Speaking them made them feel real, made them _truly_ real, and he had not realized how much of a shock it would be.  "She's not here."

"No," Gasper agreed, looking sad.  "But she always will be with you."

"And there's– there's no way she'll turn up?" Squall said, though the statement morphed into a question as his voice raised, and he felt like a small child, hopeful that the answer he wanted would be given.  But the old man across the way only shook his head, brown cloak gathering around the folds of his arms, and Squall let his shoulders slump forward again.

"She's beyond time, now," Gasper told him gently.

"Can she see me?" Squall asked.

"It's unlikely she'd retain ties to you, after the Time Compression," the old man sighed, shifting slightly.  "There's too much between you, now.  Too many times and places.  But I don't know what she can or can't see there.  It's possible that she can see both everything and nothing."

Squall bit his bottom lip so hard he could taste the metallic sting of blood on his tongue.

"And– she wanted me to be safe," he said.

"Yes," Gasper said.  His eyes were shining with something Squall could not describe, glistening in the flickering glow of the candle.  "She did."

There was a prolonged silence, and Squall was lost in his thoughts, lost in his memories, gazing down at his hands resting on his legs.  After awhile, Gasper shifted again and cleared his throat absent-mindedly, and then, when Squall raised his gaze to meet the old man's, he shrugged slightly.

"Time is prickly business," he explained, looking far away.  "Sometimes you can change it, and it changes only one thing.  Other times, you can change it and it changes everything.  Worlds and times are inter-connecting.  Some things that exist in one, don't exist in another."

"I don't understand," Squall said.

"No," Gasper sighed.  "Neither do I."

\--------

For a very long minute, Rinoa did not breathe.

The creature looked like a lion, painted black, with claws and teeth and ears that stood straight up, and then bat-like wings on its shoulder blades, keeping it floating just above the ground.  She stared up at it, and it stared down at her, and she could hear its raspy breathing.

Then, her lungs began to burn, and she sucked in air greedily, noisily, expecting the monster to swoop down and attack.

But nothing happened.

She half-sobbed in fright and nerves, and then, upon looking back down at her reflection staring up at her from the pooled water, something dawned on her, and she raised her head back up.

"Griever?" she whispered.

\--------

Squall spent a long time roaming the streets that night, searching for Heartless, almost willing them to come up from the shadows so that he could spin and strike them with the gunblade.  And then the night after, and the night after, and soon it became a routine, because he would rather be out moving than sleeping.  His dreams only brought memories he didn't want to see.

Yuffie laughed and called him the city's protector.  Cid just grunted and commented that it was a good thing he wasn't lazy, because he had to earn his keep.  Aerith didn't say anything, but she smiled at him, and he knew she understood.

And he didn't mind, because it gave him a purpose.

He knew she would have liked him to have such a purpose.

She had taught him to help people.

\--------

When Rinoa dreamt, she saw things.

Sometimes she could identify what they were– a crowded supermarket, or a storm against a beach.  Other times they were just colors and fragments, like when she had first arrived.  After awhile, she began to see that the weeping woman was dreaming too, dreaming the same things and different things, and she could weave in and out of the other's thoughts.

The waterfalls and bells– they were the other woman's.  Rinoa didn't know what they meant, but the image was strong.  She saw other things sometimes, too, flashes of things.  A little boy, a cat, a girl with a braid– but they were quick, and often too hasty to truly glimpse.

Rinoa wondered if the other woman could see her thoughts, too.

She wondered through the dreams as if she were floating.  She watched as scenes flew past her, one after the other, and sometimes she could catch a glimpse of someone she thought she knew, but it was never them.

She raised her hand, expecting to wake and find herself staring at the mortar and stones of the castle ceiling, only she didn't, she _moved_.  Her thought-self could move through the times and places she was seeing.

For a long time, she was giddy with the feeling, though she could not touch anything once she had moved into it.  She could only see and hear but not interact, and she quickly grew bored and moved on.  She wanted to touch things.  She wanted to go back and _fix_ things.

She didn't know how she came upon it, but she realized she could actually float _into_ people.

She woke up immediately, her heart beating wildly, and then she couldn't go back to sleep.  It was possible that she could go back.  She could go back and she could fix things.

She couldn't use Time Compression anymore, but she knew someone who could.

Maybe– maybe she could go back and find Ellone.

And then maybe she could save them all.

\---------

_"I'll wait for you."_

_"Where?"_

_"Here... I'll wait for you here."_

_"I'll be waiting for you.... "_

\--------

Squall stayed out one night, after his dreams had plagued him with thoughts of Rinoa and the others, and he'd sat on top of the tallest building in the first district until there was movement down below again, and people began to go about their business.  His eyes felt gritty and slow, and his limps felt as if they were filled with sand, but it was better than dreaming about her.

His gunblade felt good and steady in his palm, and it was the easiest thing that he could connect with.  It was his point of contact between both his old life and his new one. It was the extension of his being that allowed him to fulfill what he knew Rinoa would have wanted him to do– to survive.

He was good at surviving.

When he finally made his way back to Merlin's house, picking his way through the shadowed alleys he knew would be the best spots for spawning Heartless, the others were all awake, sitting in the living room as if they were expecting him.

"You're back," Aerith said with a gentle smile as he entered, looking relieved.  "We were worried."

"Stupid to be out all night," Cid huffed from the computer.  Yuffie bounded over to him, arms behind her back.

"Squall!" she exclaimed, happy, and he shook his head.

"Squall Leonhart is dead," he said, and it felt right.  Squall was gone, gone with Rinoa and Seifer and Quistis and the others.  Squall was memories and thoughts and SeeD and sorceresses.  This wasn't Squall, because this was Heartless and channels and corridors of darkness.  Squall had no place here, because Squall was gone.  He was with Rinoa, where he should be.

Yuffie looked at him with wide, unseeing eyes.

"What?" she asked, clearly confused, and he brushed past her, gunblade still resting easily on his shoulder.

"It's Leon," he said.


	6. Chapter 6

_You can do it_ , Rinoa told herself, staring out at the expanse of emptiness past the large windows of the main chamber.  _You can do it.  You can find her._

She wondered what would happen if she went back.  She was worried that she wouldn't find it, but she could taste the other sorceresses, like she could taste Ellone.  They tasted of power and magic and water-fire-water-earth all melted into one, like a river, like a stream in their blood.  She could anchor herself to them, because she was the same.  She could anchor herself and find them.

If she found them, she could find Ellone.  There weren't many sorceresses, and she only needed to find the right time.

But her arms were shaking, and her teeth were chattering, and she'd already stood there for three nights trying to summon the courage to stretch out into the times she could feel just beyond her reach.  After the third failed attempt, she'd gone down the garden to find Griever, and he'd just stared at her like he always did, like there was something he knew that she couldn't grasp.

So she was by the windows again, trying to gather what little strength she had left.  She had to do it.  She had to do it to save the others.

She had to do it to save _Squall._

She wondered idly when her hair had gotten so long.  Had it always been that long?  Surely it had never gone past her back like that.  She'd lost weight.  Her clothes were loose and baggy.

How much time had past?  She'd lost all concept of it upon arrival.  The only time she knew now was the one she was trying to find.  The one with the others and Edea and Cid and Ellone.  The one with _Squall_.

She swallowed hard.  Possessing people– she didn't like to call it that, she was only _borrowing_ – wasn't easy.  They had thoughts and desires and reactions, and she had to fight them, and it was hard.  It was _tiring._

 _Focus, Rinoa,_ she thought, and then she spread her arms out wide.  _Focus._

She closed her eyes.

_Squall._

And she _leapt._

\---------

Olympus Coliseum was hot and humid and the sand got in too many places to think about, but the idea of fighting in brackets to determine a clear winner was appealing, and it hadn't taken too long to convince Yuffie to _borrow_ Cid's gummi ship in order to get them there.  Leon liked it, and the atmosphere was oddly calming despite the chaos, and if they could help the keyblade master out, he felt obligated to do it.

"I think we sign up there," Yuffie said, pointing towards a half-man, half-goat loitering near the large columns marking the entrance.

"Alright," Leon said idly, allowing her to lead.  She usually had a better sense than he did anyway.  "Make sure we're in Sora's bracket."

"We aren't gonna _hurt_ him, are we?" she asked, concerned.

"We're going to _test_ him," he answered firmly.  "He'll need it."

She took the answer with a nod, and bounded off in the direction of the sadyr, Leon following slower behind her.  His gunblade was heavy– the special modifications had made it more powerful against Heartless but a bit more unruly to wield– and he was still adjusting to the extra weight.

There was a crowd of people in front of him, spectators from the look of it, and he was forced to weave through them, trying to keep Yuffie in his sight to keep from losing her.  Someone bumped into his side, and he stumbled slightly, and then he could taste copper in the back of his mouth.

He froze.

When the familiar tingle ran down his spine, he spun, trying to find where it was coming from.  The crowd had dispersed, and he could identify the figure that had run into him.  It was a man, a blond man, with one wing coming out of his shoulder, and he was moving away without looking back, towards the entrance of the Coliseum.  His red cape billowed out behind him like a stream of blood.

Leon couldn't move.

The man felt like–

He glanced once at the columns, where Yuffie was arguing animatedly with the half-goat man, jumping on the balls of her feet, and then in the direction the blond had headed off in.

He'd felt like _Rinoa_.

Without another thought, he spun on his heel, and followed him.

 __  
Moments lost and time remains  
I am so proud of what we were  
No pain remains, no feeling  
Eternity awaits  
Grant me wings that I might fly  
My restless soul is longing  
No pain remains, no feeling  
Eternity awaits  
-Beloved, VNV Nation


End file.
